


Blood Moon

by saberteeth



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, But Make it Porn, Character Study, Cunnilingus, Incest, M/M, Menstruation, Menstruation Kink, Period Sex, The Twins have Dicks and Pussies, Twincest, Vague Allusions to Vergil Gender Troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saberteeth/pseuds/saberteeth
Summary: “Synced up, like we’re supposed to be.”They were, weren't they? Two halves of a whole.--Post-5, back in the overworld, Vergil's getting periods again
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 121





	Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [undertheneonmoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertheneonmoon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Progeny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512590) by [saberteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saberteeth/pseuds/saberteeth). 



> same verse as the fic i linked! some tender post-5 DV period sex
> 
> the "tags" on my gdoc read as follows: 4am brain, overuse of emdashes and commas, probably over-dramatic but I have a lot of feelings, eatin out that bloody cave, past trauma, Vergil gender troubles, Dante is tender, sorry I’m like this
> 
>  **ETA!!** [BEAUTIFUL ART](https://twitter.com/bizzaroren/status/1312535369703776256) by @bizzaroren on twitter, I love it so much <3

“You smell different,” Dante comments to him offhandedly one night as they crawl into bed, snaking an arm around his waist and hooking a leg overtop of Vergil’s.

Originally, Vergil had written off Dante’s need to sprawl and hold and touch at any given time a symptom of being alone together in the underworld. It was...natural, to need comfort in an uncertain situation. Besides, Dante spoke in his sleep. He had made it more than clear that he had a deep fear of Vergil leaving him again, even if he wasn’t aware of his admission.

So Vergil understood, then. But that trend had continued even after they had settled into Dante’s home in the overworld. He had told himself that he was doing his brother a favor, letting Dante hold him and encompass him in his shell this way. There was no vulnerability of his own involved. It was for Dante’s sake.

But his excuses became weak, even to his own ears. Slowly, his body, taut beneath Dante’s arms, relaxed and he learned to let himself accept that simple affection.

Now, barely two months after returning, it was natural for them to curl up this way, Dante’s body so warm behind him that he often didn’t need a blanket. They ran warmer than most humans anyway.

“I assure you, I’ve showered,” he says, shivering at the way Dante’s whiskers ghost over the back of his neck, through the curtain of hair he had begun to grow out. He ignores the gooseflesh that rises as Dante takes another inhale.

“No,” he says, “it’s not that.” He sounds thoughtful. “It’s almost like…”

“Like what?” Vergil asks, arching an eyebrow although he knows that Dante can’t see him. He’d hear it in his voice.

“Nevermind.”

“Dante…” he sighs in that long-suffering way of his. Foolish brother. He had gone to hell and he had met death and he had still come back to him, after all this time. There was no reason to keep secrets, not anymore.

“Just blood. Metallic, like. Iron. You bleedin’?”

“No,” Vergil replies, raising both eyebrows now. “When have you or I bled long enough for it to cloud our scents, unless it’s the blood of another?”

Dante shrugs; Vergil can feel one of his shoulders lift up and down against his back, shifting the fabric of his sleep shirt as it goes, smooth against his muscles.

“I mean, I’m due.”

“Due for what?”

“You know,” he says, teasing. Vergil shifts to roll over in his arms, just in time to see the shit-eating grin he had imagined from that tone spread over his face. “Don’t be obtuse, Verge.”

“Who taught you the word obtuse?” Vergil snorts. “You get that one from Lady?”

Dante laughs softly in response, but doesn’t say anything else, expression thoughtful.

There’s a beat of silence; Vergil imagines it to be visible in the low light of the room. It will never be truly dark for them.

“Hey,” says Vergil, cupping his jaw, trying to ignore the way it no longer mirrors his own. “I’m...I don’t think…”

“Hey, not all of us grew up reading Blake.”

“Dante…”

“It’s fine. You were making a joke, I’m not offended. You’re allowed to tease. I was just...thinking.”

He offers a smile, a genuine one.

Right. Things were still fraught, and it’s hard to – remember how to be human, sometimes. Believe that Dante has just accepted him into his life, not just as a long lost brother but as the lovers they were always meant to be. Joking, teasing. It was normal. They were getting back to – normal. Or creating a new normal, for them, one that didn’t involve the tip of a blade at each other’s throats or through each other’s stomachs.

“Thinking about what, then?”

“I’m due, Vergil. Like, I’m getting my period? Maybe you are too.”

Oh. That.

He is embarrassed that the force of those words hit him like an attacker that’s managed to sneak up on him, something that nobody but his own brother has managed in – well, it’s been a long time, and he stills.

“I –” he swallows. “I haven’t – in a while.”

“Yeah,” is all Dante says, waiting for Vergil to gather his thoughts. He talks such a big game in battle, teasing his opponents in that flashy way of his. But when it counts, he can be silent. It hurts in Vergil’s chest, in the way that when a fire burns too hot it’s cold again. His love for his twin aches, in a brilliant way, always in the back of his mind, but flaring in these small moments.

“I thought – I didn’t get one in the underworld,” he says, after taking a breath. “I just didn’t think –”

He cuts himself off, lifts a shoulder.

It’s nothing. It’s a period. He’s been getting them since he was 13 years old. But he hasn’t had one since he was 19 and living in an attic with that insufferable bastard and searching desperately for meaning in the power of his father, running on spite, and anger; at Dante, at the world, and himself. The pain of losing his baby was fresh, blood pouring from that open wound the way it spills from him now. The old wound shouldn’t still throb; Nero is real, and alive, and a miracle.

But some pains don’t end just because something proves that it should.

He was 19 and broken, and then he was a false self, a heavy piece of armor covering him limb by limb, an oppressive weight, tearing apart slowly to be cruelly remade in another’s image. And then he was dead.

And then he was alive again. Alive in a body that was euphoric but degrading, fighting against himself to stay alive, to see defeating the demonic half of himself through, forcing all of his strength to exist on the precipice of that moment.

And he was certainly not getting a period.

It shouldn’t be this emotional, to think that his body is simply putting itself back on track. But after so long living in a body that he had no autonomy over it’s – a lot to handle.

“Yeah, me neither, probably adjusting to a different atmosphere? Anyway, we’re synced up now,” he grins, pressing a kiss to Vergil’s forehead. “Cycle sisters.”

Sometimes, Dante knows exactly what to say, even if it seems absurd.

“You’re ridiculous,” Vergil tells him, because he is.

“Ridiculous and not old enough for menopause yet,” Dante leans in, licking a stripe up his neck. Vergil stills beneath him. Not old enough for menopause yet. He’s fertile – they both are. He can’t consider those implications right now. He needs a distraction, and finds himself leaning into Dante’s touch, letting his brother kiss up his neck and suck hickeys into him like the teenagers they never got to be.

The marks will never have a chance to stay, healing before they even appear, but the thought is nice.

“You okay?” Dante murmurs, nosing his chin like an overexcited puppy. “You smell like you’re already bleeding. Want me to check?”

“It’ll stain.”

“Don’t sweat it baby, not the first time there’s been blood on these sheets,” he offers, still with his brilliant smile. Vergil feels heat pool in his crotch, and he crosses his legs under the covers.

Vergil has survived torture and death and tearing himself in two. He has shared himself with Dante many times. And here he is, getting worked up like a 15 year old at the mere mention of his brother going down on him while he bleeds.

He nods.

“Yeah?” Dante asks again, kissing down his stomach. The night they had finally broken the tension and let their mouths fall against each other had been desperate and messy, and afterward things oscillated. With a constant target on your back and the uncertainty of what was to come, emotions always ran high when they tumbled into each other. But ever since returning home, Dante has been so gentle, rewriting every horrible memory with a new one between them.

It makes his insides feel too big for the flesh stretched overtop. Dante, this incredible, emotional, dangerous person, this person who has defeated him more than once, this person who has hurt him and who he has hurt in return, deeper than a physical wound, here, like this. He should be used to this by now.

“Yes,” he says, aloud this time. “Yes, I want it.”

“Uh-huh,” breathes Dante, “I’m getting these off of you.”

He shimmies under the covers, his one ratty blanket that Vergil had insisted on washing, but hasn’t gotten around to replacing, yet. The tip of his head peeks out from beneath and his hands come up to Vergil’s hips, slowly sliding his briefs off, revealing his hardening cock. Vergil averts his eyes to fixate on Dante’s hair, his eyes busy looking where his hands work, lifting Vergil’s cock up to reveal his pussy, slotting two fingers in before pulling them out and looking at them thoughtfully.

Vergil can see the moonlight coming through the left-open curtain glint off the blood. Dante winks at him before sliding both fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks with an unnecessarily loud slurp.

“Yeah, baby, I think your period came, huh?”

Vergil scoffs. Always the jokester. If he lets himself laugh at Dante, loses himself in this, he doesn’t have to sit with the enormity of – menstruating. He feels ridiculous.

“And yours?”

“I’ll check, because you asked so nicely.”

Dante sleeps naked; Vergil will get there someday. Or he’ll get to wearing pajamas he feels more comfortable in. One of the two. For now, he admires his brother’s form as his hand snakes down the covers and comes back up bloody again, quirking his fingers in a mock two-fingered wave.

“Synced up, like we’re supposed to be.”

They were, weren’t they? Two halves of a whole.

“But this isn’t about me,” Dante continues, and then dives back down, nuzzling at the thatch of hair there before nosing Vergil’s cock out of the way again to thumb at his pussy. Dante massages labia gently before slowly slipping his two fingers back in, kneading as they go, and Vergil can tell that he’s already wet, leaking along with the blood.

He grunts and jerks back as Dante moves his fingers back and forth, tilting his head to kiss up Vergil’s right thigh as he goes. Vergil has never been very vocal during sex, and Dante playing with his cunt is too overwhelming for sound no matter how many times he does it. Vergil can feel his head hit the wall as he involuntarily shifts back again as a third finger is edged in; he sweats and his hair is matted to his neck, making a rough noise against the wall as he shakes. Too much feeling to keep still.

His body floods with warmth all over, and the scent of blood permeates the room; he can feel too much and his nose can smell everything – his blood, or maybe it’s Dante’s, all of the liquids leaking from them and the sweat and stench of sex and  _ home,  _ because that is what this is, now.

Dante removes his fingers with a squelch, that makes Vergil look down only to see Dante peeking up to smirk at him, He groans, the sound curling up into a slight whine at the loss.

“Be patient, huh,” Dante says, leaning down again and kissing at the junction of his hips and his thigh. “God, you smell divine, it’s  _ your _ blood, you know I can tell? I can tell it’s you, Verge, always knew I’d be able to, if I ever got to experience this with you.”

His tongue licks between Vergil’s folds, then, over the slit and he clenches around nothing, waiting to be filled. It’s – he hasn’t been a person in 24 years, but Dante can still tell it’s him. Would always come back to him. They’ve spent their time orbiting around each other – now they are synced again with the cycle of the moon.

Vergil swears he can taste metal on his own tongue with how thick the scent is and gives a full body shudder as Dante finally moves his head back to nose at his snatch, using the pad of his thumb to pull Vergil apart before slipping his tongue inside, licking at him like he’s a precious meal.

There is nowhere Dante would rather be than here. Everything is red and it gives him a small pleasure to think of his own color on Vergil like this. Vergil’s scent is ice and pine and plants that grow in the moonlight, and Dante breathes it in as he licks, running his tongue over his cunt.

He slips a finger back in, searching for the place that makes Vergil’s eyes grow dark and his legs shake like a teenager in the back of their father’s borrowed car. It never gets old, to see him like this; vulnerable in the only way Vergil has learned to be since coming back. That will change, with time, but Dante will cherish it for now. And how long has he wanted this? So many years spent in mourning, he doesn’t know. But now that he has it he’s never letting it go.

He can feel blood run down his own leg, taking in his own scent behind Vergil’s, thinks of the picture the blood must form, splaying a painting over the canvas of his thigh. Red almost looks almost black in the moonlight, dripping like a rorschach test.

“You’re fuckin’ – you’re gorgeous,” he whispers against Vergil’s pussy, lips moving against skin. Vergil is so sensitive that he gives another shiver, twitching his hips up to meet the thrusts of Dante’s fingers and tongue. He hears a sound, the blood must be running around him, Vergil wants to see the way it stains his teeth and lips like he’s just torn into a gory feast.

Like this, the thought of his own feasts on demonic flesh to feed the growth inside of him doesn’t seem so horrifying. It seems divine, in the literal sense that it is an act of a higher god.

“You –” he gets out, but he can’t finish his sentence because Dante chooses that moment to flick his tongue into him while getting another finger back in and his brain whites out for a moment.

Vergil can smell Dante from here, cedar and bergamot curl around the iron tang of his blood like a calm, steady presence, letting Vergil remember Dante is right here. This is real. They are not at odds – they are one fluid motion, and they are connected on the very rhythm of their bodies, now.

It’s enough to have him nearing orgasm already, pulsing around the fingers and tongue inside of him, electric shocks down his thighs till they reach his feet and he has to curl his toes to hold the feeling.

Dante pulls himself away from the sweet and sour and exquisite taste of Vergil’s cunt to ask, “you already close?” before taking advantage of his newly freed mouth, nosing at the thatch of Vergil’s hair again. Dante inhales deeply, and the smell of the room and the blood and  _ Vergil _ burns the back of his throat, a raging fire racing to spill out of his mouth. Gods, he needs to taste Vergil again, doesn’t want to be away from it for another second.

He tongues at Vergil again, teasing around his hole, so open and willing for him, blood running like a river, but Dante knows that even without it he’d been as wet as a rainstorm.

“Fuck,” he breathes, because he doesn’t know what else to say. How do you put these formidable feelings into words? Vergil is here and he’s bleeding and it isn’t by Dante’s hand – it’s – a symbol of rebirth, of new life, an ouroboros that Vergil has been forced through in the most terrible way, but had come back to Dante, in the end.

He uses his left hand to host under his leg to pull Vergil closer, and buries his face back in his crotch, whiskers scratching his pussy in a way that he knows will heal before Vergil can think about it. But his thumb moving over his folders, his spit mixing with blood, those are things that are tangible and lasting.

He moves his fingers back in, lapping at Vergil’s swollen cunt, red with desire, feeling the way his muscles tremble against his skin. He can tell by the small noises that Vergil is making that he’s close, and –

Vergil’s body gives another shudder as sounds begin to escape in beats –  _ ah-ah-ah – _ and his hand curls in Dante’s hair hard enough to make him yelp against his cunt. His pussy contracts around Dante’s fingers and he’s wet and hard and soft and everything around him at once, Dante feels his own pussy quiver and his cock leak against the bedsheets.

_ “Dante,”  _ Vergil breathes, low and disbelieving, and Dante peeks back up, shimmying up Vergil’s body to lay beside him and hold on despite the way their sweat makes them slick against each other.

“You’re here, Verge,” he says. “You’re right here.”

“Yes,” Vergil agrees, because he is. He’s here, and Dante is beside him, and he turns to lick his own blood off of his brother’s face, the tang of metal filling his nostrils and it shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. But it is – and Vergil pulls him in for a kiss, blood smearing over his mouth. He doesn’t mind.

Dante rubs his hard and leaking crotch against Vergil’s thigh; Vergil will be more than happy to take care of him, soon, mouth over his cock while fingers rut into Dante’s bloody cavern.

But for now, they’re here. They’re together, complete. And it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, consider leaving kudos and a comment! if you didn't, kindly exit out <3


End file.
